


Disinterest

by GhostGarrison



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asexuality, Gen, Internalized Acephobia, Swearing, ace!sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2291393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostGarrison/pseuds/GhostGarrison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is always pushing and prodding Sam to hook up, to have sex with some girl to "loosen up" and "have a little fun." But Sam doesn't find it appealing, doesn't find anyone appealing at all like Dean does. He doesn't know what he's feeling and it's tough for him to figure it out and put it into words, but at least he has a brother who listens and does his best to understand. [prompt]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disinterest

”You didn’t have to follow me home, Dean,” Sam scoffs as he crosses the small motel room to his bed, taking his wallet out of his back pocket and tossing it on the nightstand. “I’m thirty years old, not some kid.”

"Yeah, well, if you keep on putting up hissy fits every time we try to go and have some fun, then I’d stop treating you like one," Dean replies, shutting and locking the motel door behind them and checking the salt line before stalking across the room.

"I did not throw a hissy fit," Sam huffs, frowning as he sits down on the thin spring mattress, folding his hands together in his lap. His head is starting to hurt and he’d give just about anything for Dean to leave, to go back to the bar and find some girl and leave him the fuck alone for the night.

"Uh, yeah, you definitely did."

"Did not."

"Come _on_ , Sammy. Have a little fun every once in awhile! You deserve it!” Dean says with a seller’s smile, getting an Oberon bottle from the mini-fridge and cracking it open on the edge of the counter. He takes a sip of it, exhaling at the welcomed taste and alcohol that will soon be added to his veins. “I mean, Every time we’re at a bar I parade all sorts of ladies in front of you and you don’t even fucking blink!”

"I don’t—"

"You don’t what, Sam? Like fun? You allergic to it or something? Are you anti-fun? Are you the fucking _fun police_?”

"It’s _not_ fun!” Sam says, nearly shouting from the stress that Dean’s put him under all evening. His whole body is tense and it feels like something is snapping beneath his skin. “It’s not!”

Dean silences at his brother’s outburst, lips pursed and eyes wide with concern, staring at him with a confused look on his face.

"What’s not fun?" he says more quietly, more gentle as to not spook his little brother.

Sam struggles to come up with words, to come up with anything that will explain this mis-mash of feelings that has been building and tangling up in his gut for all of his adult life. His reply is an utterance, sounding incredibly unsure, quite possibly the dumbest thing he could say. “ _Ladies_.”

It takes a moment to register with Dean, but the man blinks when it does, like he couldn’t possibly believe what he’s hearing. “Wha—Are you saying… Do you like guys, Sammy?”

The question sends a jolt through Sam and his attention snaps up from the bland paisley print of the bedspread of Dean’s bed and his head whips around to look at his brother. “What? No!”

"Then what are you saying?"

Sam frowns, dropping his gaze to the gross shag carpeting. His fingers flex against each other where they’re folded in his lap and he itches to just stand up, cross the room, and walk out into the night. He wouldn’t care where he ends up, anything to get him out of this room, away from this situation. “I don’t… I don’t like either, I guess.”

"Either… either what?"

"Women or—" Sam’s voice cracks on the last syllable and he clears his throat. "Or men. Or anyone for that matter."

"So you’re like… You don’t like anyone?"

"Not really, no."

"Have you ever? I mean, you know, liked one or the other?"

"No."

"Not even Jess?"

The name stabs at Sam’s heart, reopening a wound that he’s spent so long stitching closed and burying deep beneath the ground. Dean doesn’t mention her maliciously, not trying to hurt Sam but is instead genuinely curious and trying to understand.

"She was… Jess was special," Sam beings, still keeping his eyes on the floor. He’d rather spare himself from seeing his brother’s face, possibly judging him from across the room. Plus, there’s nothing to keep him from shedding a tear if he does. "But even then, I didn’t really want to have sex with her."

Dean is silent and for a moment, Sam is tempted to look up to see his brother. He hears booted feet quietly padding across the carpet and the worn brown leather comes into focus at the edge of Sam’s vision before the bed dips down beside him and he feels Dean’s reassuring weight at his left.

A hand comes up and rubs small circles across Sam’s back and shoulders, reassuring like a big brother should, just like Dean has almost always been. He welcomes it, closing his eyes and dipping his head in some blackening form of shame that makes his heart feel charred.

He hasn’t had to deal with these feelings in awhile, at least not in a direct way. Usually he just waves off Dean’s attempts to hook him up for the night, or talk up some girl and tell her that she’s best suited for someone else when out of his brother’s earshot. But saying it out loud is a whole different experience, and it’s shaking him at the very core.

Still he doesn’t say anything, and neither does Dean until a few minutes later.

"So," Dean begins, snapping Sam out of his thoughts. "All this time I’ve been trying to hook you up and you haven’t even been interested at all?"

"Seems so," Sam says, frowning a little from the immense disappointment he feels in himself.

"Oh."

Sam’s gaze returns to the floor, staring at the worn fibers and the little stain that is barely covered by the nightstand.

"Man," Dean says loudly, clapping the hand that was rubbing on Sam’s shoulder before standing up to stretch. "I’ve been wasting all those ladies on you! I could have had _twice_ the fun all this time.”

Dean twists at the waist to look down at Sam, smiling with that crazy grin he knows so well. The mood in the room is decidedly lighter, and Dean hasn’t said anything to push Sam down, to push and pull at his emotions or invalidate him and his existence. Sam silently watches his brother cross the room again, plucking up his jacket from the back of the chair and putting it on again.

"So, we good?" Dean asks, threading a second arm into the green cargo jacket before pausing for a moment to wait for Sam’s reply.

"Yeah, we’re good," Sam confirms, waving off his brother as Dean leaves for the bar for the second time that night.

He lies in his bed, still dressed and staring up at the ceiling with his long arms spread out, hands dangling off the edges of the queen mattress. Putting it into words, however feebly and horribly as he did, helped him a lot. It’s the first time he said it out loud, voiced his general disinterest that has caused him mental anguish for a majority of his life. And Dean seemed to take his brother’s words to heart quickly, coming to a simple understanding and leaving him alone like he originally wanted.

Sam’s not sure how the future will play out—for himself or for all of humanity itself—but right now, everything seems a little more manageable, a little more bearable.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ GhostGarrison


End file.
